


I'll Scrape You Up and Reconstruct You

by waketosleep



Category: Captain America (2011), Iron Man (Movies), The Avengers (2012)
Genre: Bromance, Dancing, Drunkenness, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Post-Movie(s), Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-07-25
Updated: 2011-07-25
Packaged: 2017-10-21 18:07:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,165
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/228087
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/waketosleep/pseuds/waketosleep
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Steve should probably just stop punching holes in things.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I'll Scrape You Up and Reconstruct You

**Author's Note:**

> [This fic has a one-track soundtrack](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XVoCJJFuS60), which should be sufficient warning. Also assume general spoilers for the Captain America movie.

Steve is watching sand hiss out of another dead punching bag and thinking about nothing in particular when he hears a scuff of shoes behind him.

Tony Stark is standing in the doorway of the gym, tilting his head at the mess on the floor. Steve noticed pretty soon after meeting him that Tony's expression of deep thought looks a lot like Howard's did.

"You know," says Tony, strolling closer with his hands stuffed in the pockets of his tailored trousers, "between you, Thor and Bruce I've pretty much decided that punching bags made of like, carbon fibre or something would be a good idea. I'm gonna mention that to Fury."

Steve looks at the punching bag and feels exasperated before going to lean against the ropes of the boxing ring. It always takes a few days to get a new one, which is annoying. A tougher bag would certainly be nice. "Think he'll approve it?" Steve asks mostly to fill the silence.

Tony shrugs. "Do I care? I'm just gonna mention it, and then make some, and probably send Agent Coulson the bill."

"You love antagonizing them."

Tony joins Steve at the ropes and crosses his arms, looking up at the ceiling with a grim smile. "I don't love it. It's too easy. At least with Coulson. I like a challenge."

Steve shakes his head. The apple didn't fall far from the tree.

"So, your night's shot." Tony gestures at the bag. "I'm bored, so come drink with me."

"I can't get drunk," says Steve, standing up to follow Tony out anyway.

"Didn't I say I like a challenge?"

***

"Sometimes I just wanna put Pepper and Natasha in a cage and see who wins," Tony says into his arm three hours later. "I think that'd be easier for me."

Steve, who at least enjoys the taste of Tony's expensive scotch, thinks about that while he eyes Tony and wonders if he's going to pass out.

"I don't think that would actually end well for you, no matter what the outcome," he ventures.

Tony barks out a laugh and sits up, listing a little in his chair and dragging a hand through his hair. His fingers leave disaster in their wake but he just blinks at his glass and snatches it off the table to take a swig. It's a waste of scotch all around: Steve can't get a buzz and Tony probably can't taste it anymore. Between the two of them they could almost make a functional drinker.

"Did you have lady troubles before your hibernation thing?" Tony says into his glass.

Steve can't help a smirk. "No, nothing like that. I mostly just had Nazi troubles."

"Well, you're lucky," says Tony.

Steve looks at Tony, whose father should be younger than him but died years ago, and then he looks around the kitchen in the basement of SHIELD headquarters, at the stainless steel refrigerator and the flat-screened television and the black microwave oven sitting on the counter and all the bits of the room that are dark and shiny and manicured and pointy and wrong. A sense of doom washes over him and he wonders if he really, definitely can't get drunk after all. "Lucky? No," he says before he can stop himself. "The Nazis took up all my time. I never even learned how to dance."

"What? That sucks. My dad made me learn when I was a kid."

Steve smiles; he can't help it.

"He was pretty adamant about how much women love it," Tony goes on obliviously, and he has to take three runs at 'adamant' before he gets the whole word out correctly. Steve resolves to take away the scotch soon. "Of course, he seemed to be right. At least the women over twenty-five love it." Tony punctuates that with a drunken leer.

"I think you and Howard both have had really different experiences with women than I have." Steve can't think of a more delicate way to put it.

"You should learn how to dance," says Tony, pointing at him with the hand holding his drink. "You've got years of womanizing ahead of you, Cap."

Steve's desperate grab for his drink is purely reflexive. He still winces a little at the burn as his giant gulp of it goes down his throat. When he opens his eyes again, Tony is levering himself to his feet and being surprisingly coordinated about it.

"Think of it as my 'Welcome to the 21st Century' gift to you," he says.

"Pardon?" says Steve.

Tony blinks and looks off in the distance for a second. "Did most of that conversation only happen in my head? I guess maybe it did." He puts out a hand grandly. "I'll show you how to dance," he says.

"Oh," says Steve. Then it all clicks together as he stares at Tony's outstretched hand. "Oh," he says again. "No, that's fine."

Tony makes a grab at his hand and braces himself on the table to pull Steve to his feet. Steve goes willingly because otherwise Tony might end up on his ass on the floor. They move away from the tables and over to the clearest part of the floor, by the counter, and Steve wonders how badly this is going to end up while Tony pulls his phone out of his pocket and starts fiddling with it. When it starts playing a slow song Steve's never heard, loudly and clearly, he sets the phone on the counter and grabs at Steve's arms.

"Okay," he says, "like this," and starts posing Steve like a doll, so that he's got one hand clasped in Tony's and the other low on his back. Tony lets his rest loosely on Steve's shoulder. "You're built like a sack of rocks," he says, poking him in the shoulder once before leaving it alone.

"Why did I agree to this?" Steve asks no one in particular.

"Shut up, Cap. Now, you listen to the music, find the beat, and start on your right foot." When Tony's drunk, his reflexes aren't good enough to get out of the way of Steve's foot but he doesn't say anything, just winces and takes a deep breath and starts again.

Steve finds, as with most physical things, that he has to make his brain stop second-guessing and let his body take over before dancing comes easily. Some days his skin still feels like an oversized suit; he can't help it and he hopes the feeling will go away eventually.

They dance around the open space in the kitchen for a few minutes to Tony's 'teach Steve how to dance' playlist. Steve tolerates it because he appreciates the thought behind the gesture, but when he looks at Tony's face and sees his eyes are closed while he hums under his breath, he sighs.

"This is kind of awkward," he says. "Isn't it?"

Tony pats his shoulder. "I'm just lying back and thinking of America. Now dip me."

 

THE END


End file.
